I almost throw up three times on the way over to Garrett’s, but I choke back the nerves because I’m driving Tracy’s car, and the last thing I want to do is pay to have my vomit scrubbed off her upholstery.
I honestly don’t remember a second of my five-hour shift at Della’s. Or my one-hour rehearsal with Cass earlier. Or how I got from one place to the other today. I’ve been on autopilot since I left Garrett’s bedroom earlier, every conscious thought focused on what I’m about to do tonight.
Did I mention I’m nervous?
I shouldn’t be, though. It’s just sex. It’s sex with a guy I’m attracted to, a guy I genuinely like and trust.
My hands shouldn’t be trembling this badly, and my heart shouldn’t be beating this fast. And yet intertwined with the nervousness is a sense of excitement. Anticipation. I’m even wearing matching bra and panties beneath my waitressing uniform. Yep, you know you’re about to have sex when you’re rocking black lace top and bottom, and your skin is silky smooth and ready to be touched.
Garrett’s roommates aren’t home when I walk into the house. Unless they’re holed up in their bedrooms, but I don’t think they are because there’s nothing but silence in the upstairs hallway as I head toward Garrett’s room.
I wonder if Garrett ordered them to disappear. Then I hope he didn’t, because…well, that’s like holding up a neon sign announcing that he and I are getting it on tonight.
“Hey,” he says when I walk in.
My heart simultaneously does a nervous somersault and an appreciative flip. I can tell he took the time to get ready because his hair is still slightly damp from the shower, and his face is completely clean-shaven. I glance at his black track pants and tight gray undershirt, then at my garish uniform. Thanks to the jittery state I’ve been in all day, I forgot to bring a change of clothes.
Then again, we probably won’t be wearing clothes for much longer.
“Hey.” I gulp. “So…how do you want to do this? Should I take my clothes off?” I pause as something occurs to me. “Don’t you dare ask me to do a striptease, because I’m nervous enough as it is and there’s no way I can dance even remotely sexy right now.”
Garrett bursts out laughing. “You have no idea how to set a mood, do you, Wellsy?”
I moan miserably. “I know. I’m just…nervous,” I reiterate. Taking a breath, I wipe my clammy palms on the front of my skirt. “Can we just get started? You’re standing there and looking at me, and it’s freaking me out.”
He approaches with a quiet chuckle, cupping my chin in his hands. “First, relax—there’s nothing to be nervous about. Second, I don’t expect, or particularly want, a striptease.” He winks. “At least not tonight. And third, we’re not starting anything right now.”
I battle a pang of disappointment. “We’re not?”
Garrett tosses me the same T-shirt I slept in last night. “Go change out of that Grease costume and put this on. I’ll get the next episode ready.” He wanders over to the TV and picks up the remote control.
“You want to watch TV?” I say incredulously.
“Yup.”
My mouth opens. Then closes. But it stays closed, because I suddenly realize what he’s doing, and I whole-heartedly appreciate it.
He’s trying to put me at ease.
It’s working.
I duck into the bathroom to change, returning a moment later to join Garrett on the bed. He instantly puts his arm around me and pulls me closer, and his familiar masculine scent relaxes me.
“Ready?” he says lightly, holding up the remote.
I find myself smiling. “Yep.”
The episode fills the screen, and I lean my head against his shoulder as I focus on the TV. Like the other times we’ve watched this show together, neither of us say much aside from the occasional gasp from me or a prediction from him, but unlike those other times, I’m only half paying attention. Garrett rubs his palm over my shoulder in a light, teasing caress that makes it incredibly hard to concentrate on the TV.
Halfway through the episode, he leans in and kisses my neck.
I don’t say a word, but an involuntary sigh slips out. Goose bumps rise in the spot his lips have touched, and when he rests one big hand on my bare thigh, a jolt of heat singes my skin.
“What are you doing?” I murmur.
His lips travel along the length of my neck. “Setting the mood.” He nips at my earlobe. “Unlike some people, I happen to know how to do that.”
I stick my tongue out at him even though he can’t see it. He’s too busy tormenting me with his mouth, planting wet, open-mouthed kisses on the side of my throat.
Arousal starts deep in my core and spreads outward, dancing through my body and tingling in all my erogenous zones. Every time his lips kiss a new patch of skin, I shiver with pleasure. When his tongue tickles my jaw, I turn my head toward him and our mouths meet in the hottest kiss on the planet.
I love the way Garrett kisses. It’s not sloppy or hurried, but skillful and slow and absolutely incredible. His lips brush mine, lazy and teasing, while his tongue sneaks inside every so often for a fleeting taste before seductively retreating. I slant my head and drive the kiss deeper, and I moan when the minty flavor of him infuses my tongue. A masculine rumble comes from the back of his throat, and my belly clenches in response.
His mouth stays locked to mine as he gently pushes me onto my back, settling on his side beside me. One warm hand cups my breast over the thin material of my T-shirt, and the zing of pleasure makes me squeak in joy.
“Tell me if I’m going too fast.” His deep voice tickles my lips, and then his tongue spears through them to find mine again.
I’m on sensory overload. He’s kissing me, squeezing my breasts, lightly rubbing my nipple with his thumb, and everything he’s doing feels so good I don’t know which sensation to focus on.
My pulse goes haywire when he glides his palm down my body. He hesitates when he reaches the hem of the T-shirt, then makes a husky sound and slips his fingers beneath it.
When his hand moves between my legs, I stop breathing.
When his fingers touch my clitoris over my panties, I whimper.
Garrett’s hand stills. “Should I stop?”
“God. No. Keep going.”
A raspy chuckle leaves his mouth, and then his hand begins to move again. Just when I think it can’t feel any better, he proves me wrong by moving aside the scrap of fabric covering my sex and pressing his index finger directly on my clit.
My hips shoot up as if I’ve been struck by lightning. “Oooh. Keep doing that.”
He rubs tiny circles around my sensitive flesh, gentle but firm, before sliding his finger lower to tease the moisture pooling in my core.
The groan he lets out races up my spine. “Oh fuck. You’re so wet.”
I am. I really am. And the ache between my legs is getting worse, throbbing harder as ripples of pleasure dance inside me. I’m stunned to feel the telltale signs of impending orgasm. This is the closest I’ve ever come to feeling like this, but I get distracted when I register the hard ridge pressing into my hip. The feel of Garrett’s hard-on rubbing up against me is so erotic I can’t think straight.
I’m desperate to touch him, and my hands move as if possessed, slipping under his waistband and into his boxers.
The second I encounter his erection, my jaw drops.
“Oh my God, are you kidding me?”
He looks startled. “What’s wrong?”
“Are you taking human growth hormones or something?” I snatch my hand back, fighting another rush of nervousness. “There’s no way that huge man monster is fitting inside me!”
Garrett’s head abruptly drops in the crook of his arm as a shudder racks his body. At first I think he’s pissed off. Or maybe even crying. It takes several seconds before I realize what’s happening. He’s laughing.
Scratch that—he’s in hysterics.
His broad back quakes with laughter, causing the mattress to vibrate beneath us. When he finally speaks, his voice is wheezy and broken by loud guffaws. “Man monster?”
“Stop laughing at me. I’m serious,” I insist. “I might have big boobs and a grabbable ass, but have you seen my hips? Tiny and narrow! Which stands to reason that my lady canal—”
A howl rips out of his mouth. “Lady canal?”
“—is narrow too. You’re going to rip me in half.”
He raises his head and there are honest-to-God tears in his eyes. “I think that’s the nicest thing a girl has ever said to me,” he chokes out.
“It’s not funny, okay?”
He’s still wheezing like crazy. “It totally is.”
“You know what? We’re not doing this. You’ve officially killed the mood.”
“Me?” he demands between laughs. “You did that all by yourself, baby.”
I sit up with an annoyed grumble. “Seriously, this was a stupid idea.” Sighing, I search the mattress for the remote control. “Let’s just watch the show.”
“No way. We’re already in this deep.” His voice becomes gruff. “Give me your hand.”
I eye him suspiciously. “Why?”
“Because I think if you get better acquainted with my man monster, you’ll see that you don’t have to be afraid of him.”
I snort, but the humor dies when Garrett takes my hand and puts it directly inside his boxers.
The mood I killed? Roars right back to life as I gingerly wrap my fingers around his shaft. He’s long and thick and pulsing beneath my fingertips, and that’s all it takes for my body to tingle again.
I give him a tentative stroke, and he groans softly. “See? It’s just a regular old penis, Wellsy.”
My throat closes up with laughter. “There are so many things wrong with that sentence I don’t even know where to start.” I pause. “Exactly how old is your penis?”
“He’s twenty, like me,” Garrett answers seriously. “But he’s way more mature than I am. What about your lady canal? Is she wiser than her years, or is she—”
I shut him up with a kiss.
It isn’t long before I’m shivering with pleasure again. Garrett’s hand returns to where I want it to be. Somehow my panties disappear, and one long finger slides inside me, making me gasp. My inner muscles clamp around him, and a bolt of heat sizzles up my spine.
Garrett’s tongue fills my mouth, his erection rocking into my hand. I’ve never felt more in control, more desirable, because I know I’m the one responsible for those rough sounds he’s making. He breaks the kiss to nibble on my shoulder, and the spark in my body burns hotter, so close to detonating that I’m moaning louder now.
But the arousal extinguishes when I open my eyes to find him watching me.
The tingles disappear, and I stiffen beneath his touch.
“What’s wrong?” he murmurs.
“Nothing.” I swallow. “Just…kiss me again.” I yank his head down and part my lips to welcome his tongue.
Garrett strokes my clit with dexterity that awes me. It’s like he knows exactly how much pressure to exert, when to rub faster, when to slow down. I grind into his talented hand, but when he groans again, the arousal fades once more.
I groan too, frustrated.
“What’s going on, Wellsy?” His fingertips skim over my sex. “I know you’re into this. I can feel it.”
“I am. I…” My throat constricts as helplessness rises inside it. “I get close, and then it…it goes away.” I’m mortified to feel the sting of tears. “That’s what always happens.”
“How can I get you there?” he says intently.
“I don’t know. Just keep touching me. Please.”
He does, and oh my God, he’s so good at it. As two fingers move inside me in a slow glide, I shut my eyes again, but it doesn’t matter. I can still feel him watching me.
Just like Aaron did when he took what I didn’t want to give.
I was fully conscious during the rape. Sometimes, when I’m depressed or wallowing in self-pity, I actually curse the drugs for not knocking me out. Date rape drugs are supposed to knock you out, damn it. I’m not supposed to remember what happened to me. I wish I didn’t remember.
But I do. The memories are hazier than normal memories, but the sight of Aaron’s wild eyes has been branded into my brain. I remember lying there on Melissa’s parents’ bed, feeling his heavy weight on top of me, feeling him thrusting inside me, hard and deep and painful. But it was like I was paralyzed. My arms and legs didn’t seem to work, no matter how badly I wanted to hit or kick him. My vocal cords froze so I couldn’t get a single scream out. All I could do was stare up at those smug brown eyes that were laced with pleasure and flashing with lust.
The vicious memories swarm my mind like a bee attack, stealing away the last traces of desire inside me. I know Garrett feels the change in my body, that I’m no longer warm and wet and pliant. That I’m stiffer than a board and colder than ice.
“This isn’t working,” he says hoarsely.
I sit up, fighting hard not to cry. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just…you’re…you’re looking at me… and…”
He offers a crooked grin. “Would it help if I close my eyes?”
“No,” I say miserably. “Because I’ll know you’re still picturing me in your head.”
With a sigh, he slides up and rests his head on the bed frame. He’s still hard—I can see his erection straining beneath his track pants—but he seems oblivious to his own state of arousal as he slowly meets my eyes. “You don’t trust me.”
I’m quick to deny it. “I do trust you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
“Fine, I’ll amend that. You don’t trust me enough to fully let go.”
My teeth sink into my bottom lip. I want to tell him he’s wrong, but a part of me doesn’t think he is.
“Sex is all about trust,” he says. “Even if you don’t love the other person, even if it’s just a hookup, it still takes a serious amount of trust to open yourself up and let yourself go to that vulnerable place, you know? And there’s nothing more vulnerable than coming.” His mouth lifts in a dry smile. “At least that’s what my Google search taught me.”
“You researched this?” I yell.
Embarrassment reddens his cheeks. “I had to. I’ve never slept with anyone who’s been…you know…”
“I know.” I bite my lip even harder to stop myself from bursting into tears.
“After what happened to you, it’s not surprising that you’re scared to let yourself be vulnerable.” He hesitates. “Were you a virgin?”
I press my lips together and nod.
“Yeah, I thought so.” Garrett goes quiet for another beat. “I have an idea, if you’re willing to hear it.”
I can’t talk because I’m too close to the I’m-gonna-bawl-my-eyes-out brink, so I settle for another nod.
“Instead of me giving you an orgasm, why don’t you try to give one to yourself?”
I thought I’d maxed out my embarrassment credit card tonight, but clearly there’s humiliation left to spare. “I do it all the time.” My cheeks are flaming as I avoid his eyes.
“In front of me,” he corrects. “Make yourself come in front of me.” He pauses. “And I’ll make myself come in front of you.”
Oh my God.
I can’t believe we’re even having this discussion. That he’s suggesting we pleasure ourselves in front of each other.
“Please excuse me while I go hang myself,” I mutter. “Because I am so mortified right now.”
“You shouldn’t be.” His gray eyes harden with intensity. “It’ll be an exercise in trust. Seriously, I think it will be good. We’ll both be making ourselves vulnerable, and you’ll see that there’s nothing to be afraid of.”
Before I can respond, he hops off the bed and peels his shirt over his head. Then, without missing a beat, he yanks his pants off his hips.
My breath lodges in my lungs. I had been touching his erection before, but I hadn’t actually seen it. And now I am seeing it, and he’s long and hard and perfect. My body tingles at the sight of his naked body, and when my gaze slides up to meet his eyes, I glimpse nothing but healthy desire and sweet encouragement in those silvery gray depths. No dirty lust, no gleam of power, no savagery or malevolence.
He’s not Aaron. He’s Garrett, and he’s putting himself on display for me, showing me that it’s okay to let down your guard.
“Take off your shirt, Hannah. Let me see you.” He grins. “I promise not to leer too hard at your stripper tits.”
An unwitting smile springs to my lips. But I still don’t move.
“Show me what you do to yourself when you’re alone,” he coaxes.
“I…” The lump in my throat is too big to speak past.
His voice grows hoarse and seductive. “Show me, and I’ll show you.”
He wraps his fist around his cock, and a moan shudders out of my mouth.
I meet his gaze, and something about the certainty of his expression spurs me to action. My fingers shake uncontrollably as I reach for the bottom of my T-shirt and drag it over my head, leaving me in nothing but my bra.
Then I draw a deep breath and take the bra off, too.
